


That's Amore

by Harderthanitseems



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, I know they're not really in it, I promise I love the other boys, M/M, Marijuana, Mentions of Smut, Recreational Drug Use, Sassy Louis, Shotgunning, humor?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harderthanitseems/pseuds/Harderthanitseems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis heard the jingle of the tiny bell duct-taped to the front door, he heaved a long-suffering sigh, tossed his perfectly rounded piece of dough back into the pile, and headed out to greet yet another inappreciative pepperoni enthusiast.</p><p>Or: Louis works at a pizza parlor and hires a pretty boy against his best judgement. He's determined not to fall in love with Harry. He fails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Amore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aflowerchildsdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflowerchildsdreams/gifts).



> I wasn't sure if the prompt called for any smut, so I played it safe, hope it's not too boring!  
> This is my first attempt at any kind of fic, so please be kind! ~~Sorry if it's shit!~~
> 
> Title from Dean Martin's _That's Amore_.

_*Ding*_

The shop door opens with a creak as the first customer in a few hours walks in, and _damnit_ , Louis had been well on his way to making what was probably going to be, like, the third-best pizza he’s ever made.

It’s not that Louis hates customers, it’s just why do they have to keep, like, _coming in._ Not to mention the fact that the pizzas they order are usually prefaced with “pepperoni”, “cheese”, or “extra cheese” at a pizza parlor that offers over 20 toppings, mind you (granted, he gets the occasional pineapple request when someone’s feeling particularly exotic). Probably the most creative (and most annoying) order Louis has received was the time some punk kid had requested a “dick pizza”, a call which had ended with Louis telling the little shit exactly what he could do with his dick. It had been the type of thing Louis might have done in his younger days, sure, but a dick pizza? Not even funny, honestly.

So when Louis heard the jingle of the tiny bell duct-taped to the front door, he heaved a long-suffering sigh, tossed his perfectly rounded piece of dough back into the pile, and headed out to greet yet another inappreciative pepperoni enthusiast.

“Welcome to Luigi’s, I’m actually Louis, but I can take your order anyway,” Louis announces for the thousandth time, rounding the corner into the parlor area. It’d slowly become his official greeting after he’d accidentally washed his name tag enough times that the only remaining visible letter was a smudged ‘L’ and, frankly, the incessant “Are you _the_ Luigi??” questions had gotten a bit tiring. 

“Hi, Actual Louis, m’just Harry.” Louis hears while picking at his fingernails, and he’s already annoyed. Clearly this one’s a Nice Customer (honestly, why does Louis need his name, he’s just ordering a bloody pizza off of him, not going on a date), but then Louis looks up and _oh,_ hearing this boy’s name might be the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life.

While Louis has always felt the sappy poetry Zayn reads goes a bit overboard with the page-long description of someone’s upper lip, he feels like he could write sonnets about the eyes on the beautiful creature standing before him under the dingy parlor lights. They’re just so _green_. No, that doesn’t do it. They look like a patch of moss that’s just been sprinkled with a light spring rain, almost luminescent against the boy’s pale skin. They’re at once bright and dark, like the sea during a rough storm, a hundred different shades within a half an inch; they’d nearly be frightening if they weren’t so soft and genuine on the face of the absolute angel that’s just wandering in. They’re just so beautiful and – Louis’ been staring too long.

“Sorry, you work here, right?” the boy says, now furrowing his dark brows above those eyes, actually looking a bit concerned.

“Yeah, sorry, long night. Sorry,” Louis says, failing his attempt to sound decidedly not-frazzled. “What can I get started for you, Just Harry?”

Like that the boy’s grin returns, and Louis is both thrilled and miserable at how good he looks; the boy is obviously beautiful, and looking at him is slowly becoming one of Louis’ favorite things, but he hasn’t been out with anyone in months and knows he’s rusty. Not that he’s trying to woo every stranger that comes in to buy dinner or come on to the probably-spoken-for boy in front of him, but Louis’ been quite lonely and wouldn’t mind not-ruining the prospect of  a curly-headed new friend.

“Looking for a job, actually, if you have anything,” Harry says, tucking that bloody bottom lip between his teeth. It’s then that Louis notices Harry’s clothes are a bit old-looking and maybe in need of a wash (they still manage to hang off of the boy’s broad shoulders perfectly) and starts to feel a bit bad for the poor lad. “I used to work at a bakery, so I’m pretty good with a register, but I can do anything, really, I quite like meeting new people and -”

Louis doesn’t really hear the rest of Harry’s rant about his skills with a dough hook because _of course_ he wants a job working alongside Louis, torturing him day in and day out with those dimples and bouncy curls. And of course Louis’ boss would want to hire him, the boy practically oozes charm and bears a slight resemblance to a lost puppy, what with the ‘I’ll do anything to work here’ speech and big glassy eyes.

Then again, maybe it won’t be so bad. Louis’s a grown man; by 22 he should be able to handle himself around a pretty boy for a few days a week without jumping his bones. Maybe they’ll be mates. Maybe they’ll start a whirlwind love affair that will give Louis’ life direction and purpose, have lots of babies and a beautiful country home by the water, and live happily ever after. Maybe (hopefully).

Mates, though, definitely.

Louis floats back down to Earth to find Harry, having finished his rant, once again looking concerned, if not completely deflated at Louis’ silence, feet already pointed toward the door.

“Oi, wait a minute mate, when can you start?”

~

As it turns out, Harry’s right, he can do anything.

He’s definitely good with customers; he starts out on the register, and on his first day, he’s managed to fill up the tip jar (which usually sits empty and forgotten on the counter with a few coins and the occasional cigarette butt, if anything) with a significant amount of change and even a few bills. Louis’ pretty sure he’s seen at least three young girls, a couple blokes, and one cheeky elderly woman drop their numbers into it, as well.

It’s not even Harry’s fault, either, is the thing. He’s apparently just genuinely the sweetest guy that’s ever lived, listening to every arsehole that comes in with his utmost attention and giving them his big toothy smile and a “see you soon!” when they leave. It’s not that Louis’s a dick, but he’s worked here long enough that now he just tries to get through orders quickly and without incident.

As much as Louis wants to mock Harry’s naivety, he can’t help but be charmed. The boy is so sweet and eager to please. Louis takes him under his wing for the “training” bit of the new gig and Harry always listens intently, nodding seriously at each mundane detail of what Louis considers the world’s certified shittiest job. Whenever Harry messes up, he’s quick to call for Louis with those big, worried eyes, just like the night he wandered in, apologizing and biting his nails.

So, yes, Louis grows a bit attached to the lad, sue him. Harry likes him too and they work well together. For the first time, Louis no long dreads going to work every day. He loves working with Harry, and not just because the boy squawks with laughter at Louis’ every joke. He admires the way Harry looks at the world, like everyone and everything has good in them, despite the fact that it looks like life may have dealt him a shit hand. Louis never asks why Harry needs this job so badly, it’s none of his business, but he does find out that Harry’d dropped out of University when he was 18 and now lives with his Irish friend, Niall, in a dingy flat just down the road. Louis has no room to judge, he no longer takes classes either, and he and Zayn’s place is bearable at best (and an absolute tip at the worst).

Harry’s surprisingly good with the culinary aspect of the pizza business, too, and Louis decides that he most definitely probably was quite a good baker. He does beautiful work with the dough, molding into the perfect shape each time with those big, practiced hands. (Louis prefers not to watch Harry and his hands, though, it does _things_ to his mind, thoughts that he can’t afford to indulge in the workplace, unfortunately). 

The only part Harry’s yet to get the hang of is the actual crafting of an edible pizza. More often than not, midway through an order, Louis follows the sound of his name shouted from the back to find Harry covered in all manner of toppings, with the pizza-shaped space in front of him looking like a murder scene.

“I just can’t get everything on there without messing it up,” Harry whines, dropping his hands to his sides dramatically in a huff. It’s after they’ve closed up and Louis’ offered to stay after with Harry to help him out with his technique. As much as the idea sounds like the set-up of a weird porno, Louis is excited to finally spend time alone with Harry and, you know, help out a fellow employee, for the benefit of the pizza industry.

“S’alright, love, let’s just start over, yeah?” Louis reassures him gently, sliding Harry’s last monstrosity of a pizza into the bin and getting out a new ball of dough. “What shall we put on it, then? You can choose whatever you like. It can’t be too bad, one time some wanker ordered a dick pizza, can you believe it?”

Harry’s eyes go wide at that, he doesn’t comment, but returns to running his fingers over the bowls of ingredients Louis has laid out for their lesson. He stops at the bowl of anchovies, brings it over to their counter space, and then heads to the refrigerator, returning with the bottle of chocolate sauce they sometimes use for cannoli and plopping it down next to the bowl of fish.

“Anchovies and _chocolate_ , H?” Louis asks incredulously, half-hoping this is just one of Harry’s quirky attempts at humour.

“It’ll be brilliant, Lou, I promise! I mean, I’ve not actually tried it, but it sounds good, right?” Louis wants to laugh, but he finds it hard, knowing he won’t have the heart to insult Harry and will probably end up actually having to eat the thing.

“You’re a weird one, curly,” he says instead, smiling fondly at Harry, who grins right back at him, pleased with Louis’ observation and only blushing a tiny bit under the older boy’s gaze.

By the time they actually get the pizza in the oven, Harry’s instigated a flour fight and they’re both nearly covered with the white powder, giggling away like a couple of love-struck teenagers (which they definitely are not, thank you very much).  

And when the pizza’s finished and the two try it together sitting up on the counter, ankles bumping occasionally from where they’re swinging idly above the ground, filthy from head to toe, it _is_ awful - but Louis thinks he’d probably eat anchovy-and-chocolate nightmares for the rest of his life if it meant he’d get to spend it with Harry.

~

“I’m headed out for a spliff, lads,” Louis declares as he swiftly heads for the employee exit at the back of the kitchen. He makes it out the door just in time to see Liam giving him a fiercely disapproving look. “Back in jiff, daddy, no worries!” Louis shouts through a mischievous chuckle.

He’s right, Louis knows, but Zayn and Louis always used to toke up in the back of the bookshop where they worked during Uni when things got slow. Helped them focus. Fuck Liam anyway, a good hit would probably calm him down, Louis thinks absentmindedly.

In taunting Liam, Louis completely misses the solid form he’s about to crash into on his way out. “Oops, sorry, Lou!” Harry squeaks, quickly backing out of the awkward collision, right back into the musty alleyway where he must have just been on break.

“S’alright, H, wasn’t minding me own feet,” Louis assures Harry immediately, “Fancy splitting a spliff?”

“Erm, yeah, definitely,” Harry says, a bit too unconfidently if you ask Louis, but hey, he’d be nervous about getting caught, too, if the owner didn’t have such a soft spot for him.

Louis shrugs minutely to himself, pulls a rogue lighter from his apron and leans back against the damp wall, bringing the joint to his lips and lighting it with his hand cupped round the tip.

Meanwhile Harry’s looking a bit less relaxed by the second. He’s picking at his nails the way he does when he’s nervous (why does Louis know that?) and bouncing his leg from where he’s now taken a seat on a few stray delivery crates. Louis vaguely thinks the poor lad may need a quick hit more than he’s letting on and is swift to pass the now-lit joint across to him.

Harry takes it in his hand like it may bite. He holds it at arm’s length, as if inspecting its quality (which, if Louis’ honest, is not his best) and creasing his eyebrows like he’s having some type of internal debate.

“I promise there’s nothing dodgy in there, babe,” Louis says, breaking the tense silence, “It’s just kush, nothing weird.”

“Louis, I can’t.” Harry’s suddenly regained the ability to speak and sounds terribly embarrassed.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Z and I’ve got plenty more at the flat –”

“No, I really can’t Louis. I don’t know how, sorry.” He mumbles quietly and hands the joint back to Louis.

Suddenly Louis feels like an absolute idiot. He should’ve known he was making Harry nervous about more than just bumming bud off of him by the pained look on his face. What a twat.

He looks over to see a miserable Harry still perched atop the crates with his shoulders slumped, looking mortified.

“You do want to try though, yeah?” Louis asks gently, trying not to startle the fragile boy next to him.

"I’d love to, Lou, but as I’ve told you, I can’t, so.” Harry mumbles, keeping his head down. He doesn’t see Louis stepping over stray pizza boxes to where he’s sitting, relighting the forgotten joint.

“That’s okay, c’mere,” Louis says from where he’s stopped directly in front of Harry, extending a hand to the pouting boy. Harry looks up at the sound of Louis’ voice so close to him and eyes him quizzically, watching Louis taking a long hit from the joint. When Harry makes no move, Louis flails his outstretched hand at Harry and grumbles urgently behind closed lips, keeping the thick smoke trapped in his mouth.

When Harry finally takes the hand now directly in front of his face, he's pulled right up and out of his seat and into Louis’ chest by strong arms. Louis brings his left hand up to cover Harry’s jaw and his right, still carefully pinching the joint between two fingers, lightly over the small of Harry’s back. He quickly brings his lips to Harry’s, opens his mouth and runs his tongue over Harry’s plush lips, encouraging the boy to do the same. Harry appears to get the idea and parts his lips just a fraction, but enough for Louis to softly push the smoke he’s been holding into Harry’s mouth.

It’s not even a real kiss, but Louis can feel Harry’s body reacting, inhaling the smoke by default when he gasps at the mere contact of Louis’ lips. The older boy keeps his mouth over Harry’s for just a second more, then pulls away to give Harry some space.

Not surprisingly Harry gives a few harsh coughs into his elbow before he actually takes a proper deep breath, but Louis can’t help but be impressed with how quickly he manages to do so, for a first timer. The first time he’d smoked weed he nearly threw up all over Zayn’s couch and, to Zayn’s amusement, swore up and down for the next hour that his lungs were literally on fire.

When Harry looks up, his eyes are already a bit red-rimmed and glossy from the smoke, but the tiny smile and pink blush rising on his cheeks has nothing to do with the drug.

“It’s called shotgunning,” Louis supplies, for no reason other than to break the silence and hopefully divert the conversation from what the last minute had actually meant to him. What if he’d gone too far? Sure he’d been getting the vibe that Harry may be into him the same way he's into Harry, but maybe he’s just a nice lad and Louis had read his kindness the wrong way. Maybe he just wants Harry so much that he’d twisted the signs to convince himself of a chance for the two of them. And god, if he’s fucked it up now he’d hate to lose Harry as friend. Lovely Harry, who gives him hope for the world and cheers him up when everyone else has fucked off, too annoyed to deal with Louis’ attitude. Not to mention how awkward work would be for everyone if he and Harry weren’t getting along. God knows the pair have become the heart and soul of the place these past few weeks. All Louis can do now is hope that Harry ignores the implications of what just happened so they can go back to being the platonic best mate duo they’ve been since Harry’s first day, and Louis will settle for getting butterflies when Harry looks at him, imagining what could be.

That’s clearly out of the question, though, when Harry, wild-eyed and frantic, snatches the still-lit joint from Louis’ hand, takes a brief but respectable drag, and crashes his lips back onto Louis’. In Harry’s excitement and inexperience, their mouths haven’t quite lined up properly and there’s a bit too much tooth-bumping than can be considered smooth, but still –

This one is a real kiss.

Harry moves his lips fiercely and sloppily against Louis’, as if he’s been waiting for this moment - he has - and wants to act quickly, channeling all of his feelings for Louis into this messy kiss, lest he never get the chance again. Nearly all of the smoke meant for Louis’ mouth has billowed out into the air with the way Harry’s open mouth is moving against Louis’ stunned lips, but well, an efficient shotgun was never really the intention of this kiss. Harry’s doesn’t take time to be sweet or practiced because he’s been waiting _ages_ to do this and ever since their first “kiss” a few moments ago, Louis had looked so scared and Harry wants to tell him that yes, he wants this, and no, Louis doesn’t have to be so damned careful with him all the time.

Harry pulls back and rests his forehead against Louis’ to gasp for air, having been too busy attacking Louis’ mouth to remember to do a silly thing like breathe. Louis still looks a bit shocked, but he’s smiling with his face nearly touch Harry’s, returning the boy’s dopey smile. Harry steadies his breathing for the second time in the last few minutes and vaguely thinks that “shotgun” is actually a quite fitting description of what he’s just experienced, giggling a bit to himself.

Louis quirks an eyebrow (or tries to, with the way their foreheads are pressed together), unsure of what could possibly be funny to Harry at a time like this.

Harry doesn’t answer but surges forward to smack a final kiss against Louis’ lips. He pulls back and Louis barely hears the quiet _“bang”_ whispered into the space between their smitten faces.

~

Since then, they’re more inseparable than ever, with Harry constantly getting them scolded for sneaking quick kisses - and the occasional bum grab -  in the kitchen when they “have a lot of customers waiting to be helped, Louis, you should know better!” (Harry’s always endlessly pleased with himself for escaping Liam’s reprimand while Louis gets shit for “not setting a good example”. Liam’s no fun, honestly). More often, though, it’s not-so-quick kisses and the sweaty press of bodies in the pantry, with Louis always attempting to quiet Harry’s breathy noises and whines when he get overwhelmed; one time Louis actually had to stick a wedge of mozzarella into Harry’s mouth while he sucked him off to avoid their discovery. An incident which Harry swears didn’t turn him on, but Louis doesn’t miss the way Harry starts smuggling more and more of the stuff out of the pantry at work and into the cupboards of Louis’ flat.

Harry now regularly spends quite a bit of his time at Louis and Zayn’s, more often than not leaving Niall all alone at theirs while he sleeps over with Louis on his shitty futon. On nights when Harry doesn’t work, he usually curls up and waits in bed for Louis to get home reeking of Parmesan and tomato sauce (Harry’s actually pretty sure he’s developed Pavlovian boners in response to the smell of pizza). Other times though, he’s just waiting for Louis to come home and cuddle him until they fall asleep, the needy thing.

One such a night, Harry finds himself lying awake on his side with Louis holding him tight around the waist, his breathing deep and warm, tickling against the hairs on Harry’s neck on the exhale. Harry knows Louis isn’t asleep, though, because he’s still gently rubbing soft circles into Harry’s tummy and tracing sweet hearts along his hipbones.

Harry rolls himself over to face Louis and peeks up at the older boy’s closed eyes, careful to keep himself safely cradled in Louis’ arms. Louis smiles softly but doesn’t open his eyes yet.

“Louis,” Harry whispers. Nothing. “Louuu, I know you’re up.” He whines after a second and now Louis is full-on grinning and giggling softly, opening his eyes to take in the sight of his disgruntled, pouting boyfriend.

“I’m sorry, love, what is it?” he says sweetly, squeezing Harry a bit tighter into his chest as an apology for teasing the sensitive boy. It works, and Harry’s not pouting anymore, but his face remains serious.

“I love you,” Harry says matter-of-factly, before rushing out the next bit of his announcement, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, actually, but before you say anything, I have a confession to make,” His eyes are boring into Louis’, getting intensely green like they always do when the boy is Very Serious, as if Louis would be anything but elated at this admission. Which is just stupid, really. There’s absolutely nothing Harry could tell Louis at this moment that could change Louis’ mind about how he feels about the boy. Louis almost wants to laugh at how cute Harry looks, wants to tell him that he could be a serial killer and Louis would still love him back, but he can tell his boy very much wants to say something, and Louis will let him have this. He waits and nods his head for Harry to continue.

“Okay, so, like, remember when you told me about the time some kid tried to order a dick pizza from you at Luigi’s?” Louis rolls his eyes internally at the memory, but actually quirks his head to the side in confusion because, where is this going?

“Sure, H, but what does that have to do with –”

“It was me!” Harry yells, interrupting Louis in a voice a bit too loud in the quiet room. “I know it was stupid and immature, but I got dared to and all of my friends were there! I didn’t want to, I promise!”

Now it’s Louis’ turns to interrupt. He accidentally cuts off Harry’s apology with a huge guffaw of laughter that physically bursts out of his lungs. He’s been holding back since he had realized that _this_ was Harry’s big confession, but the anguished look on Harry’s face and the image of a tiny curly-headed teenager sitting at a mate’s house being dared to make penile prank calls is just too much.

It takes a few minutes for Louis to get his cackles under control, and by the end of his laughing fit, Harry is laughing too, only looking mildly offended.

“It’s not funny!” Harry squawks, slapping Louis’ chest playfully. When Louis starts wiping tears from his eyes, Harry climbs on top of him, straddling Louis’ hips and crossing his arms indignantly.  “I was actually worried.”

That has Louis laughing again, but this time he pulls Harry down onto him, pressing their mouths together and directing his giggles right into the boy’s mouth. He kisses Harry sweetly and slowly, attempting to wipe away any uncertainty he may be holding about where they stand.

After a few minutes, Louis pulls away and drags Harry back down into their original position, lying face to face on their sides, inches apart.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says fondly, once again wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. “I love you too.”

And when people ask how they met, Harry usually claims it was when Louis gave him a job at the pizza parlor and saved him from a lifetime of destitution, but Louis likes to think it was the work of a very specific pizza order and a little bit of fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with it, constructive criticism is much appreciated!
> 
> Tumblr: [harryinhorsens](http://harryinhorsens.tumblr.com/)


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